


The Portrait of the EP as a Young Woman

by Ericine



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: College, F/F, F/M, It'll be Mac/Will eventually, Journalism, Newspapers, Young Professional Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1749203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericine/pseuds/Ericine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Executive producer is a hard job with few rewards. Mackenzie McHale was a natural, but she had to begin somewhere and learn a lot of lessons before she could take the headset at ACN. Begins with Mackenzie in college and leads up to her first day at ACN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The EP at 20

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sadly, Mackenzie and The Newsroom are not my brainchildren.
> 
> Gosh, I haven’t written fanfiction in about four years. But, I’m older, wiser, and a senior in college close to cracking under denial and realization. So, fic. The foolproof solution to all life’s problems. Especially when you’re as into television as I am.
> 
> This was inspired by that one long conversation Mackenzie and Don had in the bar. It left me wishing that Mackenzie would be developed farther as a character. There’s a lot there.

**Cambridge Editorial Board**

**Editor-in-Chief** : Mackenzie Nolan

 **Managing Editor** : Terry Lane

 **Chief Illustrator** : Bart Rowan

 

 **News Editor** : Sam Rhodes

 **International Editor** : Max O’Donnell

 **Lifestyle Editor** : Mai Yang

 **Sports Editor** : Charles Eberheart

 **Editorial Editor** : Franz Stein

 

 **Head Writer** : Cadence Fritz

 **Head Photographer** : Luke Shepherd

 **Head Copywriter** : Lawrence Bordeaux

 

 **Reviews Editor** : Art Whittier

 **Deputy News Editor** : Kelly Schaefer

 **Deputy Lifestyle Editor** : Reyna Forem

 **Deputy Sports Editor** : Aspen Stroud

 **Deputy Illustrator** : Mackenzie McHale

 

Twenty year-old Mackenzie McHale takes a moment to look over the very neat staff list on the door to the newsroom (or what she thinks of as the newsroom at the time—later, she’ll think of it more as a broom closet) as she takes a long sip of her coffee—a rare quiet moment.

She shivers a little, more from fatigue than the chilly October weather that’s found its way through the journalism building’s fifty year-old insulation. She’s used to the English cold and is dressed in a variation of what she usually wears—a cable sweater, a collared shirt, a knee-length skirt, sweater tights, and boots in various shades of grey and brown (it’s not one of her most fashion forward moments, but she looks, as always, put-together).

It’s 7 in the morning, and the sun has barely begun to leak through the newsroom’s tiny windows. She’s happened to be the earliest one to come in this morning.

The staff list on the door is immaculate—miraculously so, as the newspaper itself is in utter chaos.

Due to a strange turnover rate, three-quarters of the staff was new. A third of said new staff quit two weeks in, and everyone was sent scrambling for new staff while still having to train the old staff and—oh, yeah—package and report the news.

Then again, maybe the staff list is so perfect-looking because they’ve had to replace it almost every week since Mackenzie started.

There’s a shuffling of feet and murmur of voices from the other end of the hallway.

Mackenzie Nolan, editor-in-chief, is a pompous man (alright, _boy_ ) with a loud voice, huge presence, and a year left to graduate. Mackenzie would think he was attractive if he wasn’t shorter than her, a lame duck who was promised the EIC position and never had to work for it, as well as utterly useless.

Also, there’s the part where he has her name, which proved to be predictably problematic (Mackenzie herself has to start thinking of him as The Other Mackenzie in her head). As the junior staff member, Mackenzie’s nickname becomes McHale.

She hates it.

The Other Mackenzie, followed about half the staff, frowns as Mackenzie when he sees her outside the door.

“You’re not supposed to be in until 11,” he says, squinting at her. “It’s an editorial board meeting. Deputies aren’t allowed in the room.”

“Bart couldn’t make it. You were the one who invited me in his place,” Mackenzie reminded him, trying her best not to roll her eyes. Typical.

“We do need the extra numbers,” said The Other Mackenzie, nodding at the seven people behind him: Max, Mai, Charles, Franz, Cadence, Luke, and Lawrence. “These are the only people who are going to make it to this meeting.”

Most likely, they were going to be the only people around to put the damn paper together tonight. Mackenzie knew this because it had happened for the last two weeks.

Mackenzie _McHale_ , who’d joined the staff on recommendation from one of her design professors, served her role as deputy illustrator, working with newspaper design—and contributing writer and copy editor and whatever deputy editor didn’t show up. And every once in a while, when the distribution staff didn’t get out of bed, she helped distribute the paper, too, getting up before dawn and running packs of paper across campus.

And now, apparently, she gets a seat at the table with the hard players at the paper. Those that bother to show up, anyway.

Mackenzie follows the rest of the staff into the meeting room. It has a long table and everything. The Other Mackenzie settles himself at the head of the table, and Mackenzie can’t help but feel a little excited as she settles herself into a seat in the middle.

“Format of the meeting,” says The Other Mackenzie. “You know, since you haven’t been here before. We discuss the editorial and take our stance so Franz can write up a draft before tonight, we each present what’s going on our page for today, and then we pitch story ideas for three weeks from now—stories we know ahead of time. You help make design decisions and pitch any ideas you might have. Any questions?”

“I have a question,” says Mai, raising her hand. She doesn’t want for The Other Mackenzie to say anything. “Sam’s not here. Where are our news pages?”

“We’ll work on them together,” said The Other Mackenzie. “That’s what McHale’s here for. She’s going to help with layout.”

Mackenzie’s eyes widened. “News has three pages. Where’s his deputy?”

“Where’s all of our staff this term?” says The Other Mackenzie, irritated. “Did you think I’d ask you over him? You’re the only one available.”

Mai sighs, frustrated. “She doesn’t know anything, Mackenzie! We’re going to be here all night.” The entire room joined in, expressing their own sounds of frustration.

Shit. This was going to suck.

*~~~***~~**~~***~~~*

It absolutely does suck.

The editorial conversation goes pretty well, though Mackenzie’s fervent protests to talk about the economic side of the Gulf War don’t get through (mostly because she can’t produce the figures herself, but she still argues that it would be an important-enough topic to, you know, look up, since they were willing to call themselves journalists and all).

The editorial topic ends up being theater production ticket prices—which, as The Other Mackenzie tells her, involves money, so isn’t she at least a little happy?

The design and section front conversation also goes pretty well, mostly because Mackenzie’s in her element. Newspaper layout, in Mackenzie’s mind, involves keeping the big picture and the small pieces of the picture in sight at all times. Mackenzie’s mind had to be in several places at once, building big pictures out of puzzle pieces 

She can’t chew gum and put her shoes on at the same time, but she’s brilliant at this kind of multi-tasking. She builds the stories in her mind—dynamic photos with captivating text, which is great, because they’ve been lacking in the writers department lately. At least the newspaper is going to look good.

The problems come when she has to bring out the content for her page, which is about as good as content will be when an editor is absent—wholly unedited. There are also problems with several of the sources, one of which is Martin Luther.

“The preacher or the civil rights activist?” asks Max.

“They’re both preachers,” says Mackenzie.

“Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?” snaps Mai. “They’re both dead.”

“What are you going to do about it?” asks The Other Mackenzie.

“I…I mean,” Mackenzie stammers, “I’ll have to contact the original sources. I’ll need to find Sam’s notes. This isn’t my _fault_ , though. I came into this so late. I didn’t know that I was taking his job until an hour ago.” She takes a deep breath. She can feel the animosity in the room towards her, and she’s going to cry in front of everyone if she isn’t careful.

“You’re officially responsible for everything on that page,” says The Other Mackenzie. “It doesn’t matter what Sam did because you’re here now, and it’s not going to matter to the student body who lays it out. But it needs to come out tonight. Fix it.”

“I have three classes tod—”

“ _Fix it._ ”

And she’s not going to cry. Nope.

 *~~~***~~**~~***~~~*

 She ends up crying in a corner of the hallway.

The bathroom is her first choice, but there’s a cleaning sign in front of it, and the cleaning lady is already staring at her, so she picks a corner, pretending to sit down and study from one of the books in her backpack.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Fuck. Caught. Mackenzie turns around, wiping her eyes—undoubtedly smearing the little bit of makeup she has on because it’s that kind of day. She recognizes the face—hazel eyes, caramel-colored hair, and a strong face, tan even in the English cold. “Luke. The photographer, right?”

“Yes. Sorry, I don’t know if we’ve been properly introduced. First editorial board meeting is always tough. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. 

Mackenzie shrugs. “I’ll be fine. Nothing in there was my fault.”

“No,” agrees Luke. “But it’s supposed to put pressure on you. The newspaper is supposed to hold the school accountable. We hold each other accountable, because no one’s reporting on us.”

Mackenzie gives Luke a look so venomous that she surprises herself. “That’s not accountability. That was powerful people picking on the least powerful person in the room.”

“Yes, Mackenzie’s an asshole about it. Everyone else in there’s just fed up.”

Mackenzie raises an eyebrow. “And you?”

“I just edit photos and tell photographers what to do. It’s very different. Less stressful. But, I tell you what, Mackenzie.” He reaches over and pushes her bangs out her eyes (she has a bob with bangs that she’s desperately trying to grow out, and she’s in that hopeless spot of transition in the middle). “It’s going to get bad tonight, but you’ve got an ally in me. I think you can do it. 

Mackenzie offers him a half-hearted smile through her just-too-long hair (he’ll tell her later that he thought she looked like one of those models, dark and quiet but beautiful, but that won’t happen for a few more years). “Thanks.”

 *~~~***~~**~~***~~~*

Her first night, “press eve” as they all call it, is the worst. Mackenzie doesn’t get out until six in the morning, and, though she gets the content up to par with several phone calls and, to her chagrin, one very embarrassing panic attack in front of everyone, the design suffers. The Other Mackenzie, who doesn’t leave until everything’s finished, pointedly ignores her on the way out of the building.

Mackenzie goes home, neglects her homework, and wakes up two hours later for the next meeting. It turns out, Sam’s transferred, but Kelly, his deputy, comes in and The Other Mackenzie explains to them that they’ll work together until Kelly can take Sam’s job.

Mackenzie hates Sam 

But, she learns. She and Kelly aren’t the best of friends, but they get along. They’re both extremely receptive to suggestions (Kelly a little more so than Mackenzie would like, but hey, she usually shows up when she needs to). They end up leaving closer to one in the morning. Progress.

*~~~***~~**~~***~~~*

In November, Mackenzie’s bangs have grown out, but she keeps them about eye-length to keep the bags under her eyes from being too noticeable. It’s not that she feels tired. She’s gotten better at what she does. Her energy lasts until the job is finished, and the job is never finished. She hums along, moving quickly, fact-checking, editing, making graphics and making stories and pictures fit where stories and pictures really shouldn’t fit (and that, in a nutshell, is the job of an editor, she finds out). She’s the first one into the office and one of the last to leave. She goes to classes in the middle and always comes back to home base.

Luke brings her food sometimes, when she forgets to eat. Cadence, the head staff writer, and Lawrence, the copy editor, buy her eye makeup and a neck pillow. The four of them form a tenuous bond, forced to put up with whatever the hell the power struggle of the week is with the section editors.

In Mackenzie’s mind, she was doing her duty to the paper. Her hard work would earn her rewards someday. And, she was here to learn, wasn’t she? She was learning everything, all at once. Big picture, small picture. She pieces them together in her mind. It’s a language she finds that she speaks fluently.

Mackenzie’s American roommate Ari found her wholly masochistic. _You’re not gaining anything. You’re just everyone’s bitch._

Ari had meant it in the most loving way, and she was right. But at this point in her life, Mackenzie won’t say such things out loud.

She cries about it for half an hour later when she’s alone in bed. She’s not sure if it’s because it’s hard or because she doesn’t know who to talk to about it.

*~~~***~~**~~***~~~*

Mackenzie transitions from one coffee a day to four and gets used to keeping a change of clothes and a toothbrush in the office.

(She pities the over-groomed freshmen that come into journalism, expecting glamour and prestige. They won’t get it, at least not right away. But glamour’s never been a concern of Mackenzie’s, even back then.)

She wants to do her job right, even if her job is actually six jobs. She’s grateful for it. Part of her thinks that she’d get bored if she were confined to one thing all the time.

“I don’t get it,” said Ari from her desk, as Mackenzie walked into their room (one in the morning this time—it was a good night). “Why do you stick with it? You could just as easily get an internship somewhere that treats you nice and actually pays you for the job that you’re doing. Aren’t you famous or something?”

Ari Soni, Mackenzie’s roommate, was pre-med and American (half-Korean/Chinese and half Black/all-of-the-western-European-whites, she clarified to Mackenzie when they first met). Mackenzie was American too, but whereas Mackenzie had a firm grasp on British culture, Ari still asked Mackenzie about once a week to explain the pounds and dollars conversion again (which Ari admitted probably wasn’t that hard, but Mackenzie was hard to follow sometimes, especially when she was talking about money).

They’d known each other for about three weeks. Mackenzie liked her well enough.

“The quality of being ‘famous’ means that people know who I am. I’m a former ambassador’s daughter. No one knows who that is.” Mackenzie contemplated taking the short walk into her bedroom and decided against it, tossing her bag on the ground next to the kitchen table, kicking her kitten heels off, and collapsing into a chair.

“That’s not a big thing?” asked Ari. She had joined two of the easy chairs in the living room together to make a boat. She sprawled between the two chairs, textbook on her lap and highlighter in her hand.

Mackenzie found a kindred spirit in Ari. They were both messy. While Ari was messy in mannerism and dress—she wore sweatpants almost every day—Mackenzie was messy in a more traditional sense, belongings spread throughout her room, three weeks of copy and four weeks of newspaper clippings on her walls, coffee stains on her textbooks, and clean, folded laundry in small piles on her floor.

“Name the current ambassador of the U.S. to France,” said Mackenzie. Ari shrugged. “It’s kind of like that. I’m not famous.”

“But you grew up nicely,” said Ari.

Mackenzie leaned her head back and succumbed, momentarily, to the wave of tired that washed over her. She was used to this kind of conversation. It wasn’t the first time she had to discuss her background with someone. She didn’t think that she heard an accusatory tone in Ari’s voice, but then again, she could be too tired to think about it 

“I did,” said Mackenzie. “I’m grateful, but I don’t use my parents’ names to get me things. What’s the point of living someone else’s life when you can make your own?”

Ari shrugged and turned a page. Mackenzie was slightly in awe of her ability to carry on a conversation and read at the same speed she did when no one was talking. “I get that. That’s why I worked so hard to go to college here. I’m from a small town, but small town, rich town, it doesn’t matter. There, I’m seen in terms of my race. Here, I’m just another international transfer who doesn’t know what the fuck a lift is.”

Mackenzie nodded, still staring at the ceiling, both dazed and sobered by the sudden depth in conversation.

“You going to bed, soon?” asked Ari.

Mackenzie grinned, energy returning. “No way.” She reached into her bag and took out the already-worn AP style handbook (she’d gotten the new edition earlier this summer).

“Just think,” Ari said, turning another page. “If you’re this into your shit now, you’re going to be a class A badass when you’re a journalist.”

And Mackenzie wants to be a journalist—really, really wants to be. It’s a desire that comes from so deep a place that she can’t explain it. She smiles.

“That’s the idea.”

When she wakes in the morning in the same chair, having fallen asleep into her book, she sees Ari across the room, curled up in the easy chair, hugging a textbook to herself.

It’s the first morning of several like it, and Mackenzie will remember later that she loved those moments, even then, feeling like she was on the cusp of something, forming herself into something vital and beautiful and essential.


	2. The EP becomes Mac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mackenzie continues her college badassery and makes a little bit of history. We find out how Mackenzie gets her nickname.

The upside to working in every area of the office means that Mackenzie learns all areas of the newspaper at the same time. She catches herself writing papers for her regular classes in AP style, finds that she can eyeball the word count of any piece of writing to within twenty words, and sketches innovative newspaper layouts in her notebook (which never leaves her hand) while in line for coffee. She takes it upon herself to become the go-to person for current events—political science upperclassmen pick her brain while she’s eating lunch.

She also finds herself waist-deep in office politics. By October of the term, there are exactly two relationships on staff: Mindy, the lifestyle editor, is dating Marshall, a copy editor, and Daisy, the proofreader, is dating Robert, the health editor, which wouldn’t be such a big deal except that that Marshall and Daisy were dating in the first place. It messes up everything: every single copy mistake gets argued over for fifteen minutes before the final cut is made. It sets back copy flow, meaning everyone has to stay for extra hours in the office.

Mackenzie buys two coffee makers and puts one in her living room and the other in the office. After finding that she can’t afford to leave coffee in the office (literally and figuratively), she keeps a bag of grounds in her backpack at all times.

Mackenzie was no stranger to playing the diplomat. She’d lived her young life against a diplomatic backdrop, learning how to make business deals over steak and a glass of wine—or a strategically-placed cup of tea (when a bit of British exoticism was appropriate).

“Negotiation is an important skill in any field,” her father had told her when she was young. “You start with what you have and use it to the best of your advantage. But remember, Mackenzie, you must have a kind heart. You must always have a kind and honest heart.”

She’s good at debate—her parents have had her debating since she’d been able to walk. She doesn’t say anything out loud here, though. There’s too much unnecessary drama going on. She doesn’t want to be another person who pushes copy flow back, who keeps everyone in the office longer than possible.

She’s not a person who attracts attention either. She dresses professionally—Oxford shirts, cable sweaters, skirts, tights, and hats. An understated beauty, her mother would say (her mother’s just being kind, Mackenzie’s sure of it). She’s reliable. Her knowledge of newspaper areas is extensive. And, she makes the best coffee in the office.

“Praise you,” Robert told her a week after she brought the coffee machine in. Mackenzie poured another cup (the staff had taken to pilfering mugs from around the school, washing them, and leaving them on the table with the coffee maker) and held it out to him wordlessly. He looked more tired than Mackenzie felt. “You make the best coffee, you know that?”

Mackenzie smiled. “We’re a team. We need to be at our best.”

And 75% of her really wants him and the rest of the staff to be. It’s October. A small fraction of the original staff that was chosen remains, and Mackenzie lumps all of them together in the same boat: they’re practically building their skills from scratch. They’re more careful with their facts, and new faces bring new ideas to the table. Mackenzie gets compliments on the grounds about the paper and nearly bursts from pride.

The other 25% of her knows that, in order for the newspaper to continue to be fresh, she needs to persuade The Other Mackenzie to continue in the same direction. He wants to play it safe, which she finds maddening.

“MEETING!” bellows The Other Mackenzie. A collective groan rises from the office, and everyone gets up to walk into the meeting room—except Robert.

“Robert? Robert? Are you okay?” Robert is staring into space. Mackenzie waves her hand in front of his face.

Robert snaps back to attention. “What?”

“You were staring off into space,” says Mackenzie carefully.

Without warning, Robert bursts into tears.

“Daisy broke up with me,” Robert cries.

“Oh my God,” says Mackenzie, half out of sympathy and half out of utter disbelief. She is _never_ choosing to date a coworker. _Ever_.

“She’s still in love with Marshall! But I love her, Mackenzie! I’ve never said it to anyone else before.” And without warning, Robert flings himself into Mackenzie’s arms.

Mackenzie catches him and pats his head. “Well, fuck,” she says, more to fill the—nearly empty now—room with something more than the sounds of his sobs.

“I know that you’re the little quiet girl who’s in the office all the time, but I really just think you’re great,” he says into the top of her head.

Still taken aback, Mackenzie struggles to untangle herself from his arms. “Hey, we’re going to find fix you up, okay? We need to get to the meeting. Um…there’s got to be a spoon around here somewhere. We can get you a tissue and do something about those eyes, right? You don’t want anyone to see you cry.” 

Mackenzie looks around the room. Along with the pilfered mugs, there are also a few pilfered sets of silverware. Perfect. She takes a spoon, cool from the air around it, and hands it to him, along with a tissue from her purse.

He sniffles loudly. “McHale, have you ever been in love?”

Mackenzie takes a tissue for herself and sets to work cleaning up his face. “No, I haven’t.”

“Well, don’t do it. It’s terrible.”

“I don’t think it’s something that you do. I think it’s something that happens,” says Mackenzie, and she shouldn’t have said it, because he starts crying again.

“HEY, MEETING!” The Other Mackenzie shouts again.

Frustrated, Mackenzie turns around. “We’re the only two people here, and there’s kind of a situation!”

The Other Mackenzie squints at her, confused by her outburst. “Oh, you’re the other Mackenzie. McHale. Get him in here. We need to vote on something.” He closes the door with (way) more force than necessary.

Okay, so maybe he was just trying to figure out her name. Mackenzie downs her cup of coffee (which is now cold) and pours herself another cup.

“He’s such a bag of dicks,” mutters Robert from behind his tissue.

“Come on,” says Mackenzie, in her best cheery voice. “You’re going to get through this meeting. Just this meeting. And we can figure out what to do after that.” She pats his face one more time and nods.

There’s a pause, and he nods back. She takes him into the meeting room.

Later, when they vote on an editorial idea, Mackenzie’s idea about prescription drug overdose wins (they find out later that it's one of the first published stories about prescription drug abuse). She wins by one vote—Robert’s.

She gets assigned the bulk of the research and paperwork. Ari takes to waking her up before she goes to class because her alarm doesn’t work on her anymore.

A week later, Mackenzie presents her research to the paper’s executive board. She has to introduce herself three times. 

Everyone knows her. It’s just that there’s another Mackenzie. She tells everyone on staff to call her Mac. Later, they’ll all laugh about it—the female Mackenzie taking the more masculine name—but for now it’s just a shortened form of her name.

In two weeks, when the editorial becomes the basis for a _60 Minutes_ episode and Mackenzie gets interviewed for her piece, Mac becomes her brand. She’s the go-to at the paper, the one to come to for any questions—technical or emotional (which is useful because the Daisy-Marshall-Robert-Mindy drama continues for another year and a half). The Other Mackenzie hates this and fights her, but she’s ready. She lets her debate skills go.

And people listen. Because she’s not the little girl who always seems to be in the office. She’s Mac, and she’s made herself indispensable.

**Author's Note:**

> Please be liberal with your comments! I'm getting back into the game and would appreciate any feedback.


End file.
